


love is in the small things

by simplyclockwork



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottom John Watson, Fluff and Smut, John Watson has a small penis, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Micropenis, Smut, toplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29027964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: John's always been a bit sensitive about his size. Sherlock makes sure John knows he adores every inch of him - bigandsmall.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 80
Kudos: 166
Collections: SmallDickFics





	love is in the small things

**Author's Note:**

> There's this frustrating habit of some readers leaving comments on smut fics where they complain about the size of John's cock, and then write their own porn in said comments, often with the character roles reversed. A couple of us fic writers on Twitter decided we'd had enough with the unwelcomed requests for John to be a snarling, aggressive, monster-cock-having sex god, so we wrote some fics with the opposite. 
> 
> BTW, here's an emphatic reminder to such commenters that there's nothing wrong with penises that are average, small, or below average or micro. A cock is a cock, and y'all need to chill because those comments are toxic af. 
> 
> Also, hell yes, bottom John Watson.

Sherlock loved John’s small cock.

He loved how it fit so well into the cup of his fingers. The way he could cradle it with ease in his grip, the length less than his own large palm. But it took some work for John to see that Sherlock wasn't bothered by the size — or lack thereof — of his cock.

When their relationship first began to shift from friends to lovers, John grew anxious. He became cagey, dodging Sherlock’s concerns and turning aside when kissing seemed like it might lead to more. Several weeks passed with the same cycle until Sherlock sat John down and asked him, point-blank, what was going on.

John, never one to spill his more emotional side with ease, took an entire minute before answering. And, instead of speaking, he stood and stared hard at Sherlock. Then, under Sherlock’s confused gaze, he undid his belt and dropped trou, baring himself to Sherlock’s growing bemusement. His pants fell shortly after, revealing John’s cock.

Small and uncircumcised, it lay in its nest of dark blonde hair, unthreatening and, to Sherlock’s eyes, perfect. Without a measuring tape, Sherlock could only guess at the actual size. But he estimated it to be somewhere around seven and a half centimetres by sight, give or take a few millimetres. Accurate or not, what John presented was clearly a micropenis. Sherlock, unbothered and having deduced John's size ages before, was confused about the sudden reveal. He'd asked what was going on, and now John was showing him his penis?

Clearly, he'd missed something.

Sherlock didn't understand the dread he saw in John’s face when he finally raised his gaze. John was looking at him with nervous expectation and evident disquiet.

Blinking, Sherlock tipped his head to the side. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

John frowned. “Like what?”

Sherlock gestured. “Like I might push you out the window.”

The words struck John silent for several minutes before he sucked in a breath and said, slowly, “Sherlock, this is it.” At Sherlock’s confused expression, John gestured to his genitals. “I mean… this is all of me. And I’m not a grower.”

Brow furrowed, Sherlock stared at John’s cock. _A grower? What?_

He stared and stared until John, frustrated and flustered, snapped, “Aren’t you disappointed?”

Raising his eyes again, Sherlock’s frown deepened. “Why would I be disappointed? I’ve been waiting to see you naked for months now, John.”

“You — wait, _months?”_ John looked confused. “But we’ve only been dating for a few weeks.”

Sherlock waved a hand. “That's irrelevant. I wanted you well before then.”

A splash of colour rose in John’s cheeks. He looked pleased and still a little uncertain. “You did?”

Sherlock pursed his lips. “Clearly. Now, are we doing something here, or is this your idea of a cruel tease?”

Again, John gaped at him. This time, he actually sputtered — something Sherlock found horribly endearing — and gestured to his cock. “This doesn’t bother you?”

The beginnings of frustration flickered within Sherlock. “Why would I be bothered by your penis, John? I am, in fact, quite a fan of penises and find myself eager to become acquainted with yours.”

Despite his apparent unease, John snorted. “Sherlock, that’s not — oh, bollocks, you don’t get it, do you?”

Sherlock threw his hands up into the air. “Get to the point, John! If we’re not going somewhere with this, then at least pull up your pants. I can’t focus on this conversation with you displaying yourself like that.” It was true: Sherlock’s own cock was growing hard in his trousers, and his focus was beginning to suffer for it. “Just tell me what the issue is so we can either have sex or move on to making breakfast!”

One more gape from John. “Well, but…” his nose crinkled as he sucked in a breath and declared, “I’m _small,_ Sherlock!”

Sherlock’s brows snapped together. He narrowed his eyes, gaze darting between John’s face and his bare genitals. He pursed his lips and pondered John’s words, turning them over and over, trying to make sense of them. Finally, all he could offer was, “Yes? And?”

John wet his lips with a cautious expression. “You… you’re not bothered?” He sounded tentatively hopeful.

Tearing his hungry gaze away from John’s cock again, Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “Why on earth would I be bothered?”

John shrugged. “Most people usually are.”

A scowl twisted Sherlock’s features. “Most people are idiots.” Clearing his throat, he took a step forward. His voice deepened, taking on a husky edge as he felt his breathing quicken. “Does that mean we can have sex now?”

John let out a bark of surprised laughter. “Blimey, you’re not kidding, are you?” He looked at Sherlock with something close to awe. “You’re really not put off by it?”

Sherlock groaned and moved closer. “Haven’t we already determined that I’m not?” He reached out, palms drifting over John’s jumper, down to his bare lower half. His fingers curled slowly around the crest of John’s hips, rapturous gaze darting over John’s body. “Quite the opposite, in fact." His eyes glittered. "I’d like to give you a blowjob. May I?”

Eyelids fluttering in a series of rapid blinks, John froze. It was a moment before he thawed, Sherlock impatiently counting out the silent seconds in his head. “What?” John managed, his voice emerging higher than usual. It was almost a squeak, and Sherlock tightened his hold to keep himself from reacting the way he wanted — which was to devour John whole.

Instead, taking a steadying breath, Sherlock plastered a strained smile on his face and slowly said, “A blowjob, John. You know — your cock in my mouth?” John looked dazed, and Sherlock huffed. “Please, John, may I suck your cock?”

Still looking dazed, John nodded. “Uh, yeah. Of… of course you can.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said and promptly dropped to his knees. He did so in one fluid motion, and, hands anchored on John’s hips, he ducked his head forward. He lipped at the tip of John’s cock, feeling it begin to harden under his attentions. Sherlock let it twitch against his bottom lip before extending his tongue. With John’s cock pillowed on the flat of his tongue, Sherlock groaned, tasting a bead of salty arousal from the tip.

John echoed the sound, his hands dropping to cradle Sherlock’s head. As his fingers slid into Sherlock’s curls, tugging and tangling, Sherlock tilted his head and took John into his mouth. He did so with fantastic ease, and Sherlock hummed his approval, making John twitch in response. His hips rocked forward, the rough, curly hair at the base of his cock brushing Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock breathed deeply, inhaling the spicy, musky scent of John, and swirled his tongue. The action had John grunting in surprise, then moaning in pleasure, his hips picking up a slow, shifting forward motion.

Sherlock set to work with greedy delight, pleased to find the blowjob blissfully free of the tricky matter of lip-stretching girth or choking length. It felt almost hedonistic, the amount of pleasure he gleaned from a gesture meant to satisfy John. Every desperate sound John made, and the way he rocked his hips with evident enjoyment, made Sherlock’s body tingle right down to his toes.

He slid his hands back, cupping John’s arse and tilting him forward a little harder. John, picking up on the instruction, quickened his thrusts. Sherlock tilted his head, changing the angle. They both groaned when Sherlock hollowed his cheeks and sucked John hard enough to make John’s knees shake.

“God, Sherlock,” John panted, nails scratching lightly over Sherlock’s scalp as he gasped for breath. "That feels amazing.”

Sherlock flicked his gaze upward, saw John staring down at him with darkened eyes. He hummed, deep in his throat, and John threw his head back. The noise he made was something between a whimper and a curse. Sherlock drank it up like a fine wine, doubling down on his efforts as he stroked a finger between John’s cheeks. John shivered and tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hair, an instinctual response. The gesture was encouraging, and Sherlock slipped further back, stroking his fingertip over the tight pucker of John’s hole.

The result was instant, John letting out a soft groan. _“Oh,”_ he sighed, head tilting back again. “Sherlock, yes. _Please.”_

Emboldened by the plea, Sherlock dropped one of his hands to his trousers. He worked his fingers into his pocket without losing the pace of his lips and tongue on John’s liberally leaking cock. Sherlock had taken to keeping a small tube of lube with him at all times on the off chance things might take a turn for the carnal. Internet research had told him that sexual spontaneity was a common occurrence in new relationships between partners with equal sexual interest, and he’d refused to be caught unprepared.

For once, Sherlock’s over-enthusiastic approach to research had paid off.

Gripping the lube in one hand, Sherlock drew his head back with a drag of his tongue along John’s cock. It made John tremble, and he opened his eyes halfway to stare down at Sherlock. With John’s cock resting on his bottom lip again, Sherlock made a slow, teasing display of popping the cap on the lube. He watched John’s pupils dilate, the black nearly erasing the dark blue of his irises, and took his time slicking up his fingers.

The catch in John’s breath was audible, inspiring Sherlock to surge forward without warning to take John back into his mouth. At the same time, he slipped his hand back around behind John and rubbed at the tight little muscle between his arsecheeks. The result was brilliant, John letting out a sound that was far closer to a keen than a shout as his legs nearly went out from beneath him.

 _“Fuck,”_ John groaned, eyelashes fluttering. A dazed expression spread over his face. “You should come with a warning label.”

Sherlock steadied John with an arm around his thighs and smirked up at him with wet lips made pink by his attentions on John’s cock. Focusing on the slow massage of his finger over John’s hole, he rested his face against John’s inner thigh and held his gaze. John’s cock twitched as he stared down at him. It leaked against Sherlock’s cheek, inspiring him to tip his head and nuzzle against the base with his lips. John’s inhale hitched in his chest, the exhale a strained groan.

With a little wiggle of his finger, Sherlock breached John, and they both shared a soft moan in response.

“John,” Sherlock said, looking up at John from under his lowered lashes, “may I fuck you?”

Another groan from John. “God, yeah. _Yeah,_ you can."

Sherlock breathed deeply, inhaling a reverent rush of John’s musky smell. “Thank you,” he sighed, finger slipping deeper as John’s body began to relax around the intrusion. John’s legs nearly succeeded in buckling this time, and Sherlock pulled away with a soft kiss to each side of John’s inner thighs. “Bedroom,” he said, holding out a hand to steady John as he stood.

“Too far,” John replied, reaching out to grip Sherlock’s shirt and reel him in close. “I want you. Right here. _Now.”_

The demand inspired a rush of blood to Sherlock's cock, making his head spin. Feeling his erection give a needy throb in his pants, Sherlock gasped out a shaky, _“Yes,”_ and ducked his head to taste John’s lips.

The kiss was hard and hungry, both of them struggling for air, parting only long enough to sip oxygen before chasing the other for another press of mouths. For another slide of the tongue and a teasing nip of teeth against lips.

They ended up in Sherlock’s chair. John was beneath him, slid halfway down into the seat with his legs spread, feet planted on the arms. Sherlock knelt over him, one leg between John’s thighs, the other straight out behind him with his heel on the floor to maintain his balance. One hand cradling John’s face, tilting it upward to receive his kisses, Sherlock slowly worked John open with the other. One finger became two, sliding up to the second knuckle, then further once the tension eased.

With a sleek stroke of fingertips over John’s prostate, Sherlock made him pant out a pitiful noise. The following whimper and dribble of precum from John's leaking cock sent a shudder racing through Sherlock.

“Sherlock,” John gasped against Sherlock’s lips, hips shifting restlessly as he bore down on the addition of a third finger, “I’m ready.” He moaned into the open-mouthed kiss Sherlock bestowed, his tongue darting out to meet Sherlock’s. When they parted for air, John begged, “Fuck me, Sherlock. _Please,_ fuck me.”

Sherlock nodded, unable to resist a little whimper of his own when John clenched around his fingers. The grip made his own cock twitch, and Sherlock grunted. Still trapped in his pants, Sherlock braced himself on his knee and attacked his flies. His fingers slipped out of John, and he smeared lube over both the chair and his trousers but was far too aroused to care. John made a destitute sound like a mewl at the loss of penetration, watching Sherlock with impatient, hungry eyes.

Once he finally got his trousers and pants off, Sherlock didn't bother with taking off his shirt. He barely took the time to remove his suit jacket, tossing it in an undignified heap on the floor. John was writhing and groaning with arousal, and it was all Sherlock could do to remember to slick his cock first.

Fingers shaking, he let the container of lube slip onto the ground, no longer needed. Scooping a hand beneath John’s arse and tilting his hips up, Sherlock sidled forward. He hooked John’s legs over his and guided the head of his cock toward the alluring sight of John’s loosened, slick hole.

The tip brushed John's stretched rim, making John shiver. His eyes rolled back before closing, his expression shifting into a heady look of anticipation. It was gorgeous, and Sherlock stared, refusing to blink and drinking in every little twitch of reaction as he slowly pressed forward. The head slipped inside, and he lingered there, savouring John’s little huff of breath. The grip was tight and hot, slick with lube and Sherlock’s precum, forcing Sherlock to pause lest he lose control before they’d even begun.

“Sherlock,” John whispered, eyes still closed. “Oh, fuck.” A flush was working its way up his chest, into his neck and blooming over his face. Sherlock was hypnotized by the sight, and he bent to press a kiss to John’s brow, the corner of his closed eye, the edge of his mouth. John huffed out a shaky little breath and said, “Keep going.”

It was all the encouragement Sherlock needed, and he slipped forward in a slow, controlled slide. John tensed and forcefully relaxed around him as Sherlock glided deeper, neither of them daring to breathe until he'd bottomed-out.

Seated deep within John, he went still. Sherlock pressed his forehead to the top of John’s skull, feeling the sweaty cling of John’s hair and listening to John’s little gasps as he caught his breath. Once several seconds had passed, and he felt John begin to relax, Sherlock whispered, “John?”

He felt John’s nod before he replied, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.” There was a louder inhale, then John pressed a kiss to the underside of Sherlock’s jaw. “You can move.”

Sherlock didn’t need to be told twice. Eyes closed, he moved his hips in a slow roll. The sensation was delicious, all sensual heat and firm grip, and the way John shivered, the soft, broken sound he let out, made Sherlock groan. He repeated the motion, resisting the urge to snap forward until John began to move with him in little ruts. Each slide was smooth and easy, and Sherlock began to increase his pace. He did so gradually, working up from a shallow shift of hips to a full-on thrust. He felt John brace his hands on the chair’s arms, heard the slip of his sweaty grip against the leather, and moaned.

“Ooh, Sherlock,” John husked, head tilting upward so he could nuzzle against Sherlock’s neck, _“Sherlock.”_

Sherlock nodded, nearly speechless save for a growling, “God, yes,” of agreement as he slammed his hips forward. John grunted and let out a long, low sound of exhilaration, inspiring Sherlock to repeat the act. He did it twice more, and John’s voice climbed a little higher each time. By the third repetition, John’s legs were wrapped around Sherlock’s waist, his heels digging hard into the small of Sherlock’s back.

“Don’t stop, don't stop,” he chanted, nails scrabbling at the leather, _“don’t stop.”_

Sherlock had no intention of stopping. He opened his mouth to say so, but John slid lower in the chair, and the angle changed. The slip brought Sherlock deeper, and he lost all coherency. He fell into a wordless wash of arousal and lust, surrendering to the urge to rut and fuck and take. One arm pulling John into him, his lips painting worship over John’s skin in the form of open-mouthed kisses, Sherlock thrust into the slick grip of John’s body. John, his thighs clamped around Sherlock’s waist, clung to him and whimpered, whined, and groaned through each slide of Sherlock’s hips.

They worked toward climax together, John nearly sobbing on each exhale when Sherlock’s cock dragged over his prostate. There was a moment where Sherlock felt weightless. Like he was soaring, balanced on the edge of some great epiphany before pleasure blossomed inside his head and his vision whited out. He felt his cock swell, his bollocks tightening and pulling upward as he spilled inside of John. Before losing himself in the spiral of bliss, Sherlock had just enough mindfulness to grip John’s cock. It fit perfectly in his palm, stiff and throbbing, soft skin over erect tissue.

With a few firm twists, John was shivering in his grip, arching his back with a cry as his cum spilled over Sherlock’s hand. Caught in the aftershocks of his own orgasm, Sherlock twitched and growled and gasped through the endorphin rush. He was barely aware of John’s hands on his face, of his head being tilted up. Sherlock sloppily returned John’s desperate kiss with his limbs trembling.

They sagged together. Sherlock collapsed on top of John before they both slipped off the chair's edge and onto the floor. Sherlock let out a soft _oof_ that set John off, his breathless laughter both audible and tangible as his chest vibrated against Sherlock’s. After a moment, once his lungs no longer ached for oxygen, Sherlock joined in. His huffing laugh mingled with John’s giggle, and it was a while before they both settled again. Once they had, John released a loud sigh and pinched Sherlock’s hip.

“I know you probably don't feel like moving, but you’re kind of crushing me.”

Sherlock made a non-committal hum in his throat. Lying sprawled over John in a shared post-coital haze was immensely pleasing, but the detriment to John’s ability to breathe won out over Sherlock’s comfort. He rolled off with marked reluctance, sprawling on his back next to John. Eyes half-closed, aware that John was looking at him with a flushed face, Sherlock lifted his hand. Holding it above him, he studied the patina John’s drying cum had formed on his palm. Curious, Sherlock brought his hand to his mouth and sucked John's release from his fingers.

John, staring, let out a groan. “Oh, god.” Sherlock shot him a side-eyed look and a raised eyebrow, and John groaned again. “That’s bloody hot,” he sighed, biting his lip when Sherlock cleaned every bit of cum from his hand with his tongue. “You gorgeous thing.”

"You're right. I _am_ gorgeous." Shooting John a cheeky, satisfied grin, Sherlock rolled onto his side and draped a possessive arm and leg over John’s slack body. “It’s about time you saw things my way, John.”

Eyebrows rising, John snorted. “Oh? Is that so?”

Sherlock nodded with resolute confidence. “Most definitely.” Rising onto one arm, he bent down and pressed a lingering kiss to John’s softened cock. “I think you’d do well to see yourself the way I see you.”

That inspired a breathless little laugh from John. “And how do you see me?”

Sherlock nuzzled John’s cock and sighed out a happy breath. “Perfectly.”


End file.
